


I would not Hesitate (To tell you all the things I never said Before)

by Carylfan84



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, Caryl as the beta couple, F/M, Whatever this brewing stewing mess between Shane Rick and Lori is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 23:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4938373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carylfan84/pseuds/Carylfan84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's drawn to her in ways that make him crack around the edges, even as the clock is running out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I would not Hesitate (To tell you all the things I never said Before)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Readers_Muse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/gifts).



> This can be read on its own or viewed as a sister fic to “Gut Reaction”.
> 
> I was content to leave “Gut Reaction” as a one shot. But, as often is the case, my better angel pointed out that it needed back story. Mostly that I can’t just let Jacqui and Jenner be alive without explanation.
> 
> Plus The Readers Muse is right; we all need a little Jacqui/Jenner lovin’ in our lives.

Edwin Jenner told himself he wasn’t going to socialize with these people. Of course, he’d also told himself he wasn’t going to open the doors for them. He was going to let them take their chances with the dead who still howled around the perimeters of his premature tomb. Begged them with words they could not hear. Pleaded to gods he no longer believed in for them to just…go. To be gone. To take the hint.

He hadn’t wanted to see their ends. To be the witness to their fates as he had been the witness to the fates of so many others. He’d seen the barricades over run. He’d sat next to coworkers who’d chosen to opt out. The intern whose wrists had resembled sashimi more than human flesh; who had mistaken him for her father, begged his forgiveness in her last semi-lucid moments.

Candace had wept over that woman-child. So grateful they’d never had children. She’d cradled the body to her with all the respect she thought was due to the dead. The body that had reanimated so quickly. Too quickly. Such a fatal mistake compassion could be.

He couldn’t open the doors. To open them, to let these people in, would be to sign their death certificates just as much as leaving them to fend for themselves would be. More so. They might still find a settlement, unlikely as it was. They had survived this long. And such a large group. The last living person to make it this far had been a sole survivor, cut down by the undead before he’d made it past the first sandbags. To open the door would be to give the the gift of death, terrible and beautiful.

In the end he had gone against his instincts for her. The half crazed officer of the law had assured him he was making the right decision to leave them outside. There was another man, seemingly more lucid, trying to lead them away. They might lose a few of their number on their way away from the barricades, but they would still have a chance. They had children. He hadn’t seen living children since Atlanta fell. If their species would have any chance to eek out of this mess the children were the key. Over and over again he told himself this. As the frightened mothers gathered the young to them, as the protective fathers circled round. She was the statistical outlier.

Her serene presence drew his attention. Frightened, but accepting. Comforting the other women as best as she could. Tranquility at the end of time. In the end he opened the door for her.

Once inside, her confidence and compassion confirmed he had made the right choice. She, if none of the others, would understand him when the clock ran out. He was as sure of this as he was that he should have perished instead of Candace.

None of the others had broached the idea of asking for further hospitality; she did. Not for herself, but for her makeshift family. Watching them, soothing them, shepherding them. He didn’t know what kind of woman she had been before the world came to an end; the woman who sat before him when he presented the makeshift feast was a fearsome and wonderful creature indeed.

The others were exuberant and open in their actions; from the roaring celebrations of Daryl and Glenn to the consternation of Shane. As easy to read as a child’s first book. She sat in an almost studied restraint, eating leisurely and delicately sipping her wine.

After dinner, while the rest of her group scrambled to figure out room arrangements and call first dibs on hot showers, she remained languid and regal. Only after the chaos died down did she head for an empty room, giving him a wink and a half wave that seemed to be a promise of some sort as she closed the door behind her.

He considered, if only for the briefest of moments, asking her if she’d care to keep him company for a little while. He was certain if he asked she would answer in the affirmative. The thought thrilled him. The thought terrified him. It confirmed what he had long believed: God had an absolutely sickening sense of humor.

Another great irony; the lab seemed larger, and lonelier, now that there were others in the building than it ever had when he’d actually been alone.

*  
The company was unexpected, though not entirely unwanted. Perhaps he had summoned the sot of a sheriff by some long forgotten conjurer’s trick. A commentary, perhaps, of socialization at the end of the world. When the dead walk the Earth why can’t the rule of the day be don’t dream it, be it?

The more honest answer was that Rick had sought him out first. Inebriated and babbling. Gesticulating with the wine bottle still clutched in one hand. A need to confess, to unload himself on the outlier. Edwin would have stayed to the edges, stayed in the lab, until the last. His survival had nothing to do with bravery and everything to do with stubbornness. Old habits died hard and all that placating bullshit people used to murmur to excuse their behavior. He was still open enough with himself to admit that.

The only real surprise in Rick’s visit to his sanctuary was the absence of Rick’s other half. Mayhaps one third of his being was a better moniker. It didn’t take a psychologist to understand Rick was owned in equal share between two others. Edwin idly wondered if Rick knew what power he held over that other man. If Shane himself knew.

Rick and Shane reminded him of a poem he had read back in his college days. Some blow off English class taken only to fulfill course requirements. Something about an argument between body and soul. Despising each other and needing each other. Body had creaked and groaned at dinner. The Soul had tried to warm and move the Body, to animate it.

Tempestuous, open longing in every word and glance. Powerful, needing; the kind of thing that could only end in mutual destruction. Their people were too grief stricken from recent loss, and too close to the situation, to see it for what it was. He truly was doing what was best for them. He was giving them the comfort he had been denied.

Perhaps not so unknowing. The mop of black curls that briefly glanced into the lab, seeking Rick out, said their dynamic was understood by at least one of them. There. Gone. Unfortunate. Edwin could have used his help steering Rick back to his wife.

Rick had, thank the deities for small miracles, been compliant as he helped the other man to his feet. No need to try and call Shane back down. The lawman had even willingly given up the bottle as he was led down the hall and towards the sleeping quarters Edwin was sure the man’s family had picked out.

A miracle, or not, it really depended on whose score book you were going by he supposed, that the hallways were empty. There was activity, signs of life, but hidden away behind the doors. Someone was running a shower, someone (he suspected the Asian boy) was getting sick, the woman who had lost her sister was still sobbing softly. He didn’t think it prudent to knock and ask for a late night chat with any of them. After all, he didn’t really want their company. He was only in this section because he’d wanted to return Rick to his family.

That’s what he told himself, continued to tell himself, as he found the sole straggler. The hunter, the one with the daughter and claustrophobic wife, appeared to be doing a safety check of the area. The head tilt of acknowledgement as he went by was honestly more than he expected to receive.

The last to bed and the first to breakfast, as his mother had always said. Even at the end of the world. When she had died the year prior he had never dreamed, as he comforted his sister at the graveside, that the time would come that he was grateful for his mother’s death. Their mother had gotten a far kinder end than Lydia, he was sure of it. He could only hope she had decided to opt out before the disease caught up with her. He should have tried harder to contact his sister.

The timer was running out. Less than a day now and his grief, his regret, and his might have beens would be gone.

He didn’t remember his thought process being so disjointed before. A little scatterbrained, maybe. But not this rapid flight between what was and what is and what could have been if only.

Which explained his surprise at the woman now occupying his seat in the lab. Well, either she had passed him by without him noticing due to his scattered thoughts or she was prepossessed of some sort of supernatural trickery. Probably that first one. But when the dead walked the Earth one could never be quite sure.

Her casualness was alluring enough to make him give a little more thought to the supernatural angle. Languidly draped across the chair, glass of wine perched precariously in one hand. The bottle resting on the console off to her left. Pajamas he would have laughed at in their absurdity (“This is my pretty lingerie” boldly splashed across an otherwise plain black top in silver writing, pink leopard print bottoms. The pajamas of a housewife a decade into her marriage.) in another lifetime.

The stigma on socialization with these people seemed downright daft when she gestured him over. Brazenly inviting him into his own lair.

It would be rude to turn down such a polite invitation. His mother had raised him correctly, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This should be a 2 shot. I’m hoping to have the second part up either Wednesday or Friday.


End file.
